Boys -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Slums -- Fiction
Dicky blushed a little, and felt very guilty without in the least
understanding the offence. But Mr Weech's virtuous indignation subsided
as quickly as it had arisen, and he went on as amiably as ever.
'When you _find_ anythink,' he said, 'jist like you found that watch,
don't tell nobody, an' don't let nobody see it. Bring it 'ere quiet,
when there ain't any p'liceman in the street, an' come right through to
the back o' the shop, an' say, "I come to clean the knives." Unnerstand?
"I come to clean the knives." There ain't no knives to clean--it's on'y
a way o' tellin' me you got somethink without other people knowin'. An'
then I'll give you somethink for it--money p'raps, or p'raps cake or wot
not. Don't forgit. "I come to clean the knives." See?'
Yes, Dicky understood perfectly; and Dicky saw a new world of dazzling
delights. Cake--limitless cake, coffee, and the like whenever he might
feel moved thereunto; but more than all, money--actual money. Good broad
pennies, perhaps whole shillings--perhaps even more still: money to buy
bullock's liver for dinner, or tripe, or what you fancied: saveloys,
baked potatoes from the can on cold nights, a little cart to wheel Looey
in, a boat from a toy-shop with sails!
'There's no end o' things to be found all over the place, an' a sharp
boy like you can find 'em every day. If you don't find 'em, someone
else will; there's plenty on 'em about on the look-out, an' you got jist
as much right as them. On'y mind!'--Mr Weech was suddenly stern and
serious, and his forefinger was raised impressively--'you know you can't
do anythink without I know, an' if you say a word--if you say a word,'
his fist came on the table with a bang, 'somethink 'll happen to you.
Somethink bad.'
Mr Weech rose, and was pleasant again, though business-like. 'Now, you
just go an' find somethink,' he said. 'Look sharp about it, an' don't go
an' git in trouble. The cawfy's a penny, an' the cake's a penny--ought
prop'ly to be twopence, but say a penny this time. That's twopence you
owe me, an' you better bring somethink an' pay it off quick. So go
along.'
This was an unforeseen tag to the entertainment. For the first time in
his life Dicky was in debt. It was a little disappointing to find the
coffee and cake no gift after all: though, indeed, it now seemed foolish
to have supposed they were; for in Dicky Perrott's world people did not
give things away--that were the act of a fool. Thus Dicky, with his
hands in his broken pockets, and thought in his small face, whereon
still stood the muddy streaks of yesterday's tears, trudged out of Mr
Aaron Weech's shop-door, and along Meakin Street.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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